Blue life turned red
by imaginarypaths
Summary: The only one color she can't see is the most present in her life. Color-blind!Hermione. Romione


**~Blue life turned red~**

.

Hermione's read and heard about it several times; the red color, her obsession. The only color she misses in her life, _the_ color.

She knows everything about it, of course.

They say that red is the first color in the rainbow. She can only trust her books.

They say it's the first color babies can see. She has no way to know. Even if she could remember the first months of her life, she still wouldn't know.

They say red is the color of blood, which is where your life resides. Does that mean she cannot live? Her books don't tell.

They say red is the color of love. She doesn't understand this one so she decides to read all about love as well, but she finds no answers.

They say those whose hair is red are vampires; they say red-heads are evil. Her parents keep repeating her hair isn't red; they assure her they love her just the way she is, and that prejudice is an old, stupid, false one, but she always tries to be on her best behavior just in case.

Then, she learns she's a Witch. And once again, she discovers red is a fundamental color in the Wizarding World.

Red is her House's primary color. The Sorting Hat says red is the color of courage. She has no basis for disagreeing, except she feels blue most of the time.

Many spells, curses, potions are red. How is she supposed to recognize them? She dares not ask.

The Wizarding World is based on blood. If her blood was dirty, she'd know, wouldn't she? It does appear dim yellow instead of deep purple, but that's normal, right?

Red is very important if you get a Remembrall. "When the smoke turns red," she says confidently, secretly hoping the book is right. _It wouldn't work for me_ , she thinks. _Neville is a lucky guy_.

Everything seems to be there just to mock her.

Once again she feels left out, like she doesn't belong in that world.

She's never wanted or needed to be a Witch, but her parents have been so proud. _Pride_. It is said to be connected to red, too; nothing to do with her then.

Then, there are them, the Weasleys, proud red-heads. And most importantly, there's _him_ : freckles, blue eyes, and (apparently) red hair and ears—the last ones when he's embarrassed, that is when she's around according to everyone; she just wishes she could notice it too. She can see the white pretty well though; and she can swear his ear to ear smile when he looks at her is the most beautiful shade of white she's ever seen.

* * *

All she can see is an indeterminate color; brownish, she'd say—he insists the true color of his hair would make her run so he's glad she can't see it, which always makes her laugh—but she knows it looks red, maybe orange, to a normal eye, which is what worries her.

Trust has always been a large part of her life, and to think of putting it all in his hands, in a red-head's hands of all people…

She likes to think she's not being prejudiced—even though she knows deep down she's being utterly unfair to Ron who's proven to be a great friend—it's just that… his hair is red. She can't see it, but it's _red_. What if that was true for his soul and heart? And she's just unable to see it? Maybe for Ron, 'friend' is to 'brownish' like 'boyfriend' is to 'red'. Or vice versa. She is not sure. But the point's still there.

No matter how many times she tells herself she's wrong, the doubt remains in the back part of her mind, torturing her and feeding on her reads, telling her he'd break her heart in thirty seconds flat if she'll ever entrust it to him.

She tries to fight that evil voice, but she can't, she _can't_ … After all, it's not like he's never hurt her. He's never meant to, but he has. The memory of the Yule Ball still stings.

.

"I have never met anyone so… so…" she says to her mum in what she hopes is a neutral tone, ranting about his obliviousness.

"Pretty?" Her mum chuckles. It's supposed to be a joke, but there's also hope in her voice and Hermione easily detects it.

"I was going to say annoying, but judging by the expression on your face, I'll stick with pretty. Happy? Even though, I warn you, he'd be outraged if he knew."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I must have misunderstood that dreamy look on your face. I could have sworn 'pretty' was the word you were about to say. I'm sorry I spoilt your _articulate_ rant. It's just you have the same expression when you talk about puppies."

Hermione snorts, for real, but she also feels an odd warmth creeping into her cheeks. When she looks up, her mum smiles and says, "Take it slow. He clearly needs time, but I'm sure his heart is in the right place."

* * *

"Ron," Hermione whispers, her eyes still closed, trying to ignore the pain in her body.

"I'm here," is his quick reply.

She feels something brushing her cheek. "How are you?" she asks.

"I should be asking you..." He sounds nervous, insecure.

She opens one eye, then the other, and sees that brownish shade again in his cheeks and in his eyes; he must have cried. For her.

"I'm fine," she says. It's odd how much that answer feels true despite the pain.

"So am I, then," Ron says, still caressing her cheek.

There's a tormented, guilty look in his eyes. He blinks as soon as he notices Hermione's staring at him, but she hasn't missed it.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I'm sorry. I couldn't stop… stop _her_." His voice breaks. "Forgive me."

"You're a fool, Ronald Weasley. There's nothing to forgive. I'm just glad it was not you. Or Harry."

He shakes his head, ashamed. "I won't let anyone touch you again," he says. "I won't."

She wants to argue, say he can't promise it, but she just shushes him.

"Hermione, I just want you safe." His blue eyes are laced with concern and understanding.

She studies him. His hair looks darker, his jaw is stronger and stubbled. But it's still the same Ron; stubborn, adorably clumsy, and… Something warm—that Ron often says is what red feels—sets in his stomach. If that's truly red, it's but a shadow, but she doesn't feel robbed. On the contrary, she feels something good could actually come from this ordeal.

When Ron mutters something about the two of them "after the War," the redness in her stomach becomes a little brighter.

(Ron never tells her—and hopes none ever does—the Cruciatus Curse is red. He wants her to associate that color with only good things. Not because she misses it, but because it's something he's going to give her, and he doesn't want his gift to be stained or rotten. She deserves the best.

 _I love you, Hermione_.

After the War, he'll say it aloud.)

* * *

She's read all but never known anything about it, Hermione realizes. It's been Ron who taught her—she admits there was a time when the mere idea of Ron teaching made her nose turn up at it, but not anymore—taught her the meaning of _red_. Because red is love, red is passion, red is courage, red is his warm laugh; red is her blood, and that's as pure and red as his. Or so he's told during the War when his blood was spilling out from his injuries and staining Hermione's hand; he said his life—red is life too—was in her hands, and she understood then, trusting him like she's never trusted anyone else in her life.

.

When she's preparing to say goodbye to her life like she would a parting friend, and Ron's there, leaning down to kiss her closing eyes, his face tear-strained, she sees, _feels_ , the red color at its best, full of passion and vibes and emotions; not that shadow that haunted her what seems a life-time ago. He's made it go away, like he's always done.

Shadows are evanescent and dark.

Ron is solid and bright.

And no shadow can resist the sun.

His lips on her eyelids are burning with love. And they are so, _so_ red.

 _Thank you, my love._

She contemplates staying behind, not trusting the World of the Dead to be colored.

 _._

 _._

 _One foot in front of the other. Easy, terribly so. She's done it for years and can't seem to stop now. She doesn't have the strength to do anything, but she needs to keep on walking, even though it's not bringing her anywhere._

 _The world is moving at the same pace, and she's just standing there, idly, looking persons and objects spiral endlessly as if passively carried._

 _Yet her feet are still moving. And she's still not going anywhere._

 _She looks up: arid, eternal stone, and white, torn sky._

 _She doesn't like it here. At all._

 _Everything's cold and gray._

 _Sadness permeates the air._

 _She's never guessed it would be like that to be a ghost; the world appears as smoky and inconsistent as the Land of the Dead would appear to a living person._

 _She feels like she doesn't belong here._

 _She wonders why no ghost has ever said anything, but she understands why the Gray Lady rarely allows herself to be seen._

 _Hermione's built a wall between herself and them, freezing herself in an icy world._

 _She's come back for them,_ to _them and Ron. But it feels like she's turned her back on them._

 _They're mourning._

 _Her death._

 _And all she can do is watch and refrain herself from putting her smoky, ashen hand on their shoulder in what should be a comforting gesture, but she knows it'd just go through them, making them cold._

 _None's ever mentioned the world seen through ghost eyes would be so unwelcoming and sterile._

 _She can only feel time passing and she can only track it, as_ tomorrow _becomes_ today _that quickly fades into_ yesterday _._

 _The minutes, days mock her, reminding her that there is no turning back._

 _She can only keep moving, keep walking, and watch the world swirl._

 _With her but also without her._

 _As the seasons change, so do the people until she doesn't recognize anyone and becomes just any ghost to them._

This isn't right. Too much gray _._ _It hurts her._

.

.

When she opens her eyes, the colors are there again, and she finds herself getting lost in Ron's intense, warming gaze. It tells her all she needs to know; he can't and won't stay away from her for long, and it puts her mind at ease.

 _I'll be waiting for you on the Other Side, Ron. I love you._

A red, promising light invades the room.

It's dawn.

* * *

 _ **The end**_

* * *

 **A/N I don't know where the idea of a colorblind!Hermione came from but I admit I've grown rather fond of it. I hope you enjoyed it too! :) I guess the Italics sequence may be considered a dream or some sort of anticipation. The scene where Ron and Hermione talk is supposed to be after Bellatrix tortured her.  
**

 **A/N 2 Written for the Valentine's Day Date Competition on The Golden Snitch forum.**

 **Prompts:**

 **(creature) ghost**

 **(color) deep purple**

 **(song) 'Heartbreaker' by Will.**

 **(word) spoilt**

 **(dialogue) "I have never met anyone so… so…" / "Pretty?" / "I was going to say annoying, but judging by the expression on your face, I'll stick with pretty."**

* * *

 **Disclaimer: the Harry Potter world is created and owned by J. K. Rowling. This is merely a work of fan fiction.**


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